


I Will Try to Fix You

by kaitlynmclaughlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Drug Use, Eating Disorder, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlynmclaughlin/pseuds/kaitlynmclaughlin
Summary: "Maybe I'm a nice guy," he quips, wiggling his eyebrows at the model."Well, I'm not a nice girl."-----Or, the one where Lydia has a fucked up life and Stiles wants nothing more than to fix her. But how is he supposed to do that when she doesn't let him in?





	I Will Try to Fix You

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE READING FOR WARNINGS!  
> This fic is an AU situation where none of the characters were friends beforehand besides Scott and Stiles. Lydia is going to be very out of character because of the situations in the fic, but I promise it's just the story at work! So, don't read this thinking it's going to be anything like the show, because this is (I can't stress this enough) an angsty human AU of the Teen Wolf universe. Everyone else is (hopefully) in character, but there are some stressful situations in here so read with caution! I hope you guys enjoy this first chapter as much as I loved writing it!!! Please read the tags before reading!

 

 

Stiles found himself scrunching his nose from the weight of the smell that was making its way through the group of people he was working through. Scott, his childhood best friend and his expert tour guide, had brought him to a large summer-is-here college party for the first night of his visit. Stiles had flown down from George Washington to California for summer vacation, which was also the first night he was seeing Scott for the first time since they had left in August. However, he and Scott's ideas of a fight night in seemed to differ greatly.

"Dude, it smells," Stiles said, gagging for effect.

"Stop complaining," Scott deadpanned, shaking his head while he stood on his tiptoes. The twinkle in the corner of his chocolate brown eyes signaled that he was looking for someone--some _one_. On _their_ first weekend back together.

With a sigh, Stiles begrudgingly followed along, stealing a shot off of a way-too-fancy display for a college party and tilting his head back to let the clear, five dollar liquid burn down his throat. "What does she look like anyway?"

"I don't know, man—she was in my Calculus class last semester and she's _beautiful_. Like, super model, brunette, amazingly beautiful human being." Stiles can't help but stick a finger down his throat to imitate vomiting. Scott was always more open with his emotions than he was. "Her name's Allison. She said she'd meet me here at eleven, but I don't see her."

"Looks like you got stood up, buddy," Stiles announced, clapping his hand on his friend's back and handing him a shot. "C'mon, let's put this down the hatch and go back and watch some Star Wars, eh?" he bargained, only to have the shot shoved back in his hand.

"Oh, there she is!" Scott exclaimed, running off and leaving Stiles to mutter under his breath and swallow down another shot's worth of Vlad.

Stiles followed as Scott walked up to greet her with a hug, watching them throughout the night as he third-wheeled. Allison wasn't making him feel left out though, they were all drunk and dancing while Allison used her girl-powers to try and hook Stiles up with someone for the night. He saw the appeal, definitely. Allison was a model's height, 5'8" most likely. Her brown eyes complimented his, and her smile shone bright as the lights flickered across the dark room. It was when they were all laughing at a joke Stiles told and had just done another shot that Allison spoke up.

"Hey, how about we all go back to my place? I live in an apartment off campus. It's a five minute walk," she offered, smiling at Scott as he looked to Stiles for approval with pathetic puppy-dog eyes.

Stiles was having fun, so they were soon on the walk back to Allison's place with a bottle of cheap whiskey Stiles had smuggled out from some rich kid that set it down on the beer pong table and walked away.

"So, what's your major, Stiles?" Allison asked, her curious voice breaking the thick, night air.

"Uh, well, I'm going to school to become an FBI agent, actually," he said, clearing his throat. "Seems funny, right? Someone as spastic as myself having such an important job." Scott chuckled as an agreement, and Stiles patted him on the shoulder. "But it's Scott you should be asking about, he's going to college to be fuckin' Super-Man," Stiles said, wiggling his eyebrows at Allison. They all burst into laughter and continued on their walk, making jabs at how Stiles is going to handle certain situations in the FBI.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"So, my roommate is kind of a mess," Allison said as she fumbled for her keys, unlocking the front door. "A model, I'm pretty sure her boyfriend is abusive, she's always been rich so she's high maintenance," she continued, trailing off and doing a once-over of the apartment. "We just moved in three months ago, she mostly keeps to herself since she's never home anyway." 

Stiles nodded along with Scott, wandering to the living room and plopping on the couch with a groan, taking a swig of the whiskey. "Sounds like a _bitch_ , Allison," Stiles nodded affirmatively, slurring slightly.

They were all talking about school and having a good time when suddenly the front door burst open. He heard the voice before the face, and the voice was _mad_. "Leave me the fuck alone, Jackson!" came a blood-curdling scream that made Stiles bounce to his feet instinctively.

"Dirty fucking whore," came a deep male voice. "You think you can fucking _make_ it without me? You fucking can't, so get inside and shut the fuck up." Stiles went to move, but Scott put a warning hand on his hip. Stiles pushed his hand off and walked over to the entrance, face-to-face with two people that looked about his age.

Jackson, he assumed, was the man that had the red-head's arm white from his grip. The girl--wow. Stiles stood there dumbfounded for a moment just admiring her. Allison had mentioned her roommate was a model, but the red-head--no--the strawberry blonde had hair that reached her lower back and her lips were swollen just begging to be kissed. Her legs were accentuated perfectly by her black heels, only being paired with a cherry-red dress. And her eyes. They were a beautiful hazel green, and they were locked on his. Oh, right, he completely interrupted this fight. Between two total strangers.

"Who the fuck are you?" Jackson snarled, tugging on her arm and bringing her face close to his. "Is this who you've been fucking? This fucking twink?" He spat.

"Okay, first of all," Stiles said, putting his arms up, Allison and Scott now behind him to spectate. "Ouch. That was completely uncalled for, buddy."

He was interrupted by the gorgeous roommate, "No, him? If I was going to cheat on you, I wouldn't choose someone like--"

Jackson brought his arm back and struck her in the face, which was enough for Stiles to pounce and push him away while Scott grabbed Lydia off the floor. "Fuck off, dude," Stiles snapped. His arm drew back once again. There was a sting of pain, and then everything went black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles was out to get coffee a few days after the incident. Scott had brought him home after he came to, and apparently the hot roommate brought the guy back up to her room anyway, so his heroism went unnoticed. Still, he couldn't get the strawberry-blonde out of his head. He learned her name was Lydia, which was even more angelic than he could have imagined.

He thanked the barista for his black coffee and walked back out onto the city streets of LA where he had a few summer internship interviews. As he walked down the street, a voice caught his attention and his head whipped to the side. He suddenly felt underdressed as his eyes laid on none other but Lydia. She was clad in white and black striped t-shirt with a  tan coat and a black mini-skirt that buttoned in the front. He couldn't help but to think about the fact that the whole outfit would be such an easy-access point, but he has to shake the idea off before his jeans got too uncomfortable. On her arm was an expensive Michael Kors handbag and her feet were once again covered in the material of black high-heels. This was the flight-or-fight mode, which was unfortunately a broken part of Stiles' system. He walked up to her without thinking--his feet dragging him there against his will. 

"Hey," he said stupidly, a teethy smile on his face and his hand raising up in an awkward wave.

Lydia lowered her sunglasses, looking at him with nothing more than a face of disgust. "And _who_ are you?" She said flatly, redirecting her attention back to her phone screen. The girl looked tired, She had bags under her eyes that were hidden with makeup, and he could see remnants of bruises and scrapes on her arm. It was after all that that he finally realized that she had no idea who he was. Genuinely.

"Oh," he blurted out, awkwardly scraping his nails into the back of his neck. "Stiles. I kind of got punched by your douchebag the other night," he said, pointing to the yellow and purpose ring around his left eye. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Does he always talk to you like that?"

He seemed to catch her attention slightly, as her phone screen was now locked as she listened. She snapped her head up to him, glaring at him as she pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head. "No," she said defensively, crossing her arms. He noticed her stone face soften slightly  before hardening again just as quickly. He felt her green eyes drag along his body, taking in his Star Wars shirt that read "Single, Taken, Han Solo" and it had the Han Solo checked off. It was paired with dirty sneakers and a pair of jeans, his hair rustled on the top of his head from the wind. He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm okay. Why does it bother you?"

Any normal person would be able to tell how annoyed she was with him interrupting her lunch, but Stiles was oblivious. He took a seat across from her with the widest grin, shrugging. "I dunno. Kinda stupid, isn't it? Your boyfriend punches me in the face and I'm asking if _you're_ okay," he joked, noticing how the corner of her lip perked up a bit. "Maybe I'm just a nice guy," he suggested.

"Well, I'm not a nice girl, and I'm also supposed to be on my way," she said, seemingly looking for something in her coat. She sighed out of frustration, sliding the jacket down her shoulders before finding her keys beside her leg. She couldn't pull it up quick enough to get Stiles to not notice the markings up the crease of her arm, but he, for once in his life, said nothing. She scribbled something down on a piece of paper, sliding it towards him as she got up. "Here's my number. In case it requires a hospital visit." Her voice was taunting before she turned around, leaving Stiles to stare open-mouthed at the sway of her hips.

After punching the air multiple times at getting her number--even if it wasn't given to him for _those_ reasons--he pulled out his phone and did a quick Google search. He pursed his lips together, squinting his eyes as he realized what he saw on the frail redhead's arms. Track marks.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter. Sorry for any typos, I was typing excitedly. Let me know what you guys think, leave your comments!


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